“… alright?” he was asking, though comprehension still eluded her. “Keryn, are you alright.”
Slowly, she nodded, though the movement caused more stars to dance in her vision. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a croak came from her hoarse throat. Keryn swallowed roughly, feeling the little moisture burning down her esophagus. Opening her mouth, she tried again.
“I’m okay,” she croaked, her own voice sounding like stones clashing together. A coughing fit overcame her, but she quickly recovered. Reaching up, she gently squeezed his hand and gave him a weak smile. Brushing his hands away, she pulled herself up into a seated position, cringing as pain lanced over her broken rib. “I’m fine. How is everyone else?”
Alcent looked around furtively. Most of his vision was obscured by smoke and fire, but what he could see was not promising. Bodies littered the piles of rubble, their bodies tossed and forgotten like rag dolls. Many still burned freely, though the individuals were far beyond feeling the flames.
“We’re still alive,” he said promisingly, rubbing soot from his face. “That’s what matters.”
Keryn pulled herself up until she was standing. Crestfallen, she looked at the damage caused by the volley of rockets. In the back of her mind, she heard the Voice call out in amazement that they were still alive at all. However, Keryn couldn’t shake the feeling that, even knowing that many of the revolutionaries would die during their insurrection, the loss of life seemed too high a price, even for their freedom. In the distance, she heard the whine of engines turning over the buildings and fighters realigning for a second pass.
“They’re coming back,” Keryn said quickly, her own nervousness showing through her normal mask of composure. She wasn’t sure she could survive a second attack. Looking around, watching silhouettes emerge from the acrid smoke as more of her surviving soldiers approached her position, she tried to call out a warning, but her voice wouldn’t come. Alcent laid a hand comfortingly on her arm and shook his head
“Trust that our men have done their jobs,” he said soothingly. “If we can’t trust that, then we’re already as good as dead.”
Standing together, the growing group of revolutionaries watched the dark sky as the burning engines of the Terran fighters quickly approached, their noses aimed threateningly at the survivors. Breathing difficultly, Keryn could hear a few hitched sobs of those behind her; these were people who had already endured so many hardships, only to be faced with their own demise among the same rubble in which they had slaved for three long weeks.
As the fighters grew closer, many in the group clutched hands, finding strength in each other’s touch. Keryn, however, stood stoically at the front of their cluster of soldiers. She held her head high, knowing that if their plan failed, it would only be seconds before their memory was erased from the universe.
The Terran fighter pilots switched their arming system to the second set of rockets held underneath their wings, readying their second pass. As they began a quick dive that would bring them closer to the ground for their volley, spats of fire erupted from the towers around the field. The turrets, come to life as their newly programmed targets were acquired, threw molten metal into the advancing squadron, shredding through the armored plating of the fighters and slamming into the pilots inside. The lead craft spun haphazardly as a round shattered the cockpit view screen and vaporized the pilot’s head, a red mist settling over the ship’s controls. The fighters fell from the sky, one after another, as the turrets continued their unrelenting assault. The ships, flaming and out of control, fell far short of the revolutionaries, showering the Terran ground force like improvised bombs.
Watching the annihilation of the Terran squadron, Keryn held her pistol high above her head and yelled to her gathered group. “No quarter to the Terrans! Kill them all!”
She turned and, ignoring the lancing pain in her side, charged toward the burning rubble of the once deadly Terran ships. From amongst the flames and smoke, other groups like her own emerged, hollering wildly and chasing down the Terrans who were, once again, in full retreat.
Commander Lucience checked his magazine before sliding it back into his pistol. His bodyguards were packing the last of the communications equipment into carrying cases in preparation of their evacuation of the planet. He had watched in horror as his fighters vanished from the display, hearing their explosions even from the Black Void. That, if nothing else, had sealed his decision to leave the planet. Even if he had no solid communications with the Ballistae from the ground, he would still be able to give the order to destroy Miller’s Glen once he was onboard the Terran Destroyer.
“Let them enjoy reclaiming their city,” he muttered to himself as he turned toward his guards, his cape fluttering behind him. “They can enjoy it all the way until I glass the entire place.”
The guards locked the last of the cases and loaded them on a hovering loader; its flat surface and directional controls able to carry and maneuver even the heavy communications equipment from the Void to the warehouses where they would be loaded onto awaiting ships.
All three turned with a start as the doors flew open to the front of the former bar. The Commander eased his grip on his pistol, however, as one of his men staggered through the door, closing it behind him. Obviously fresh from the front lines of battle, the soldier’s armor was bloodied and he hadn’t even taken the time to remove his helmet. From across the dark room, Lucience could see the green glowing lights from the facemask.
“What is the purpose of this intrusion?” Lucience asked venomously. His nerves were shot from this ordeal and he had no time for petty interruptions. He held up a hand and the two guards behind him lowered their weapons as well.
“A thousand apologies, my Lord,” the soldier said, breathlessly. “I’m here to warn you that the insurgents have nearly reached this location. Your shuttle is ready, but we have to hurry.” The soldier stepped further inside, eager to be away from the sounds of battle that seeped from beneath the front doors.
Lucience turned to his bodyguards, motioning them forward. “We’re leaving. Get the equipment and hurry.” He stepped from the raised dais that had once held a bar and walked passed the exhausted soldier without so much as a nod of recognition for his warning. His cape trailing behind him, Lucience advanced on the front door, eager to be gone from Othus once and for all.
Behind him, the Commander heard one of his guards reprimand the weary soldier. “You will remove your helmet when addressing his Eminence.” Lucience didn’t break stride as he approached the front door.
“Who the hell are you?” his guard asked in surprise before two gunshots rang out from behind him. Stopping in his tracks, he turned quickly toward the back of the bar, pulling his weapon. As he spun, he stared at the shaggy-haired blond Terran who stood, pointing his weapon at Lucience.
“I’d drop the gun if I were you,” Adam ordered as the two bodyguards slid slowly to the ground, clutching wounds that poured blood onto the already slick wooden floor.
Lucience growled in angry defiance. “I will kill you, Pilgrim.” Spittle flew from his lips as he spoke, his rage causing his barrel to bounce wildly.
Behind him, the front door crashed open once more. Lucience spun, ready to fire on the person coming through the door regardless of whether or not he was one of his own soldiers or a revolutionary. As he turned, Lucience raised his weapon toward the new target far too slowly. Adam fired his shot first, the round tearing into the Commander’s exposed abdomen. Lucience staggered backward and tried to bring his own pistol to bear on the Pilgrim, but Adam had already fired again. His second bullet tore into Lucience’s chest. The air knocked from his body and his strength quickly failing him, the Commander slumped against the wall and slid slowly to the ground.